


Four Times Janeway and Chakotay had to Share a Bed and one time they didn't

by KaCole



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love, New Earth (Star Trek), Romance, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 13:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21119603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaCole/pseuds/KaCole
Summary: When they return to Voyager after weeks of freedom and intimacy on New Earth, Janeway and Chakotay regretfully decide they can't continue as lovers. A series of situations force Kathryn to reevaluate that decision.





	1. What Happened on New Earth Stays on New Earth

As prisons go, this isn't the absolute worst Kathryn Janeway has found herself in, but it hardly ranks as comfortable. Chakotay stands close beside her, his eyes flicking warily from rows of austere bunk beds to the strangers who have been unceremoniously herded along with them.

Everyone has been issued with identity tags, which hang on thin metal chains around their necks like old-style military dog tags, entitling them to a bed, meals, and access to communal wash facilities. Her repeated requests to speak with someone in authority have so far met with resounding silence, and she isn’t at all confident her distress call ever reached  _ Voyager _ . Hopefully, the xenophobic Ketarians are not inclined towards summary execution of luckless shuttle craft inhabitants who stray into their space. 

She sighs. According to her tag, her bed is this top bunk, and Chakotay's is the one beneath her.

There are a few families scattered around, with forlorn-looking children clinging to their parents, their skin sallow under the harsh lights. A predatory pack of five or six males lurk in the corner, and one scrawny man with long hair and bad teeth leers at her. Chakotay raises himself to his full height and glares, sending a clear  _ don't screw with us _ message. She can almost smell the testosterone oozing between the two men. 

The prisoner backs off with a scowl.

The lights flicker once, and with that, people move quickly towards their beds. 

“I take it that means lights out pretty soon,” she says quietly to Chakotay before she starts climbing into the top bunk.

She feels his hand on her arm. “Captain, I'm not sure it's safe for you to sleep up there alone. I don't like the way he's looking at you.”

Kathryn doesn’t much like it either, but she’s not inclined to say that out loud. “Thanks, Chakotay, but I can take care of myself…”

Chakotay doesn’t let her arm go. “Humour me?” He pulls the covers back on his own bed and indicates the space next to the wall. 

If she agrees, it will be the first time they’ve shared a bed since New Earth and all those nights when rank didn't matter and protocol was a distant memory. She hasn’t forgotten her angry warrior: how he wiped away her tears with his thumb and leaned in to kiss her. The moment is burned into her memory. After a split second of hesitation, she kissed him back. They made love that night in every sense of the word. 

But, they agreed when they returned to the ship, months ago now, what happened on New Earth stays on New Earth. He diligently upholds her wishes. Some days she sees that loss flicker in his eyes, though; he's not as adept at hiding the pain as she is.

Does he have an ulterior motive in asking her to lie with him? Probably not, and if she’s honest the thought is a little unfair, as his concerns seem genuine.

He glances around uneasily. “I won't sleep unless I know  _ Voyager’s _ captain is safe.” 

The use of her rank tips the balance, and besides, he's an honourable man who respects her boundaries: she trusts him implicitly. She kicks off her boots, hides them under the bunk, and climbs onto the small bed. As he lays beside her, she has to admit there is something comforting about his solid frame between her and the rest of this dour prison’s unfortunate inmates.

The room plunges into darkness. “They don’t waste electricity in this place,” he grumbles.

She makes a cursory noise of agreement in her throat, as she’s busy trying to figure out just how to arrange her arms and legs, whether to face him or turn her back. On New Earth, that first night they shared her single bed, and after the frantic lovemaking they spooned all night. She woke that morning with his breath on her neck and his hand on her belly.  _ No. _ She mustn't think of New Earth. Not when she can almost hear his heartbeat next to hers. Not when they had to work so hard to reset the parameters and salvage their friendship. She can't—won't—let the necessity of sharing a bed derail that.

“Goodnight, Chakotay,” she whispers.

He is silent for a long moment, and she wonders if he's already asleep. Then his answer comes through the darkness. His soft voice still sends a shiver down her spine. 

“Goodnight, Kathryn.”

#

She wakes, warm and blissful, tangled in his arms, her back pressed close to his chest. The light is thin and grey, and the room is silent, so she guesses it's before the morning call, although she has no idea of the time. Would it hurt to enjoy this embrace for a few minutes longer? Surely the day will hold enough hardships, and she's been alone for so long. His arms feel like a small piece of the paradise they found on New Earth, a sensation she's missed much more than she’ll ever admit.

He stirs, and already sees her mistake in not extracting herself while she had the chance. 

“We haven't woken up like this in a long while,” he whispers. His hot breath on her neck makes her body tingle. 

Her words catch in her throat, and all she can manage is a dry kind of croak. “Chakotay.”

Somehow—and she thinks this is his superpower, he divines her meaning from that one word. 

“I know,” he says, his voice thick with regret, “What happened on New Earth stays on New Earth.” His arms tighten around her just a faction, and he whispers into her ear, “It was good, though, wasn’t it?”

She’s never been afraid to look a crewman in the eye when delivering bad news, and she won't start now. She rolls over to face him. “Yes it was,” she agrees. “But running a starship is very different from raising tomatoes.”

“I know,” he says wistfully, “But sometimes I really miss those tomatoes.” 


	2. Starfleet Sweat

They have trudged through an unforgiving desert all day, force-marched by blank-faced soldiers towards an unknown destination, concealed among a caravan of desperate refugees.

Kathryn is sweating, hungry and quietly furious at the treatment these people are receiving. Besides that, if she and Chakotay don’t get to the rendezvous point by tomorrow evening  _ Voyager _ will be obliged to either break orbit without them or face a contingent of Henlien warships. She left standing instructions for Tuvok to leave rather than let that happen, but somehow she doubts the Vulcan will resume their journey to the Alpha Quadrant without an attempt to retrieve the command team from this desolate planet.

Chakotay is clearly disgusted at the situation, too. He’s been seething all day.

As they all stumble into a makeshift shelter at the edge of a great city, he surveys the pitiful surroundings. “As a race, the Henlien’s have more than enough resources to feed and clothe these people. How can they sit by while this disaster unfolds and do nothing?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Chakotay. It’s brutal.” 

There’s little food, but what the refugees have they willingly share with Kathryn and Chakotay. Across the room, a thin-faced girl cries when her pitiful meal is gone, while her exhausted mother gazes listlessly around the shelter. Kathryn offers the remains of her own meal to the child, who bolts it down. Her mother raises a smile. 

“Non-interference be damned,” Kathryn says as she sits down again next to Chakotay, “when we get back to  _ Voyager _ we’re making sure this whole planet knows exactly what’s going on here.”

The sleeping arrangements are sparse and overcrowded, and Chakotay wearily pulls back the cover of a narrow bed and glances at Kathryn. “Looks like we’ll have to share,” he says. “And there’s no way to get clean. I’m sorry, I’m covered in sweat.”

“I'm not a stranger to your sweat, nor you to mine,” she says before she can stop herself.

“I remember,” he says. He grins, raising an eyebrow. “The day we hiked through the forest and camped in the glade. It was a hot night.”

She laughs stiffly, her cheeks flushing red. That night was balmy, unrestrained and passion-filled. Highly memorable. 

“We were living a different life,” she adds, with sadness, because it's painful to remember the way they loved each other with abandon.

“Yes.” He doesn't say it was a better life, but she can see in his eyes that he thinks so. 

Some days she catches herself thinking that, too. Then she remembers who she is, and where they are, and the crushing weight of responsibility bends her back into the shape she knows so well. She has to put these turbulent emotions back in their box. “Well, it’s Starfleet sweat,” she quips, “so I guess that’s acceptable, Commander.”

He bows his head, lowers his eyes, accepting the reminder of protocol and the duty they are trapped by.

She's immediately sorry to have stung him. If this is a prison then it's one of her own making. She softens her voice. “I'm sorry, Chakotay. That was unnecessary. If I have to bunk with someone, I'm glad it's you.”

“That's quite all right, Captain. I understand how you feel about...everything.” His reply sounds stilted, his tone formal, and he barely looks at her.

Kathryn sighs and lays down. How can he possibly understand how she’s feeling? She can barely understand it herself.

He lies beside her, at a safe distance, careful not to touch her, and he doesn't say a word. Despite her exhaustion, sleep eludes her for a long time, and when she finally drifts, she dreams of New Earth. The heat of his skin, the press of his lips on hers. She jerks awake. She is resting her head against his chest, her leg lifted over his. How many mornings did they wake this way in their little cabin? Her whole body tingles with desire. Her mind wanders back to passionate nights in the darkness of their small room and those decadent evenings when they didn't even make it to the bedroom; making love under the stars, and in the daylight too when the mood took them. It's maddening to be reminded of what she can't have.

He stirs and murmurs. “It’s nice waking up like this again.” 

It’s more than nice. It’s heaven. Would it really be impossible to find a little New Earth magic on  _ Voyager _ ? She is poised on the edge of something dangerous, and she doesn’t know what to do. 

Sighing, he squeezes her briefly. "It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything.” 

So the question that burns her, could they somehow make it work between them, remains unvoiced and unexplored. 

She rolls a little away from him, gathering her resolve, and then turns so she can look him in the eye. “I have one hundred and fifty souls to steer safely home,” she whispers. “I can’t do that if I lose my objectivity. I’m the captain.”

He touches her face, tenderly, letting her know he understands the mission comes before the personal. But he can’t quite hide the regret in his eyes. “The commander knows that ship comes first,” he says. “But it’s hard for the man to stop hoping.”


	3. The Universe is a Very Cruel Place

They dance. It’s expected, you see, that the high ranking guests take part in the complicated twisting and spinning that traditionally concludes negotiations in the Symbari Trade Conglomerate. It's probably the three glasses of something not-quite-like-wine that their hosts press on her, but Kathryn can't see the harm in enjoying the evening, so, she weaves in and out of the brightly dressed dancers. Eventually, the music delivers her into Chakotay’s arms.

He smiles, a gentle smile, demure but dangerous, because it nudges at a door she works hard to keep shut. Does he suspect her turmoil? Or has her mask remained intact? 

“That colour suits you,” he tells her, glancing at her dress. 

She chose this deep blue because it reminds her of the moment just before dawn when the sky is inky, the silence rich and warm. If she’s honest, it takes her back to their last night on New Earth, when they watched the sun come up through a veil of loss, and tried desperately to convince themselves they could survive. This dress is supposed to remind her of necessary sacrifice, and duty, the appropriateness of maintaining a command distance, and the million other reasons why looking into his eyes is a terrible idea. 

Right now she’s hard pushed to remember any of those reasons. 

So they dance, and they keep dancing, until her heart thunders and he looks as flushed as she feels. They are almost cheek to cheek. 

It’s not a good idea  _ at all _ .

She squares her shoulders and holds her arms taut to reverse the erosion of their personal space, but as the tempo changes they melt into one another, and end up pressed far closer than necessary. It’s  _ really _ not a good idea, but she can’t find the will to stop, so they dance some more, and they drink a little more of the not-quite-wine, and she enjoys herself way too much, dancing and talking, talking and dancing, punctuating their conversation with small physical gestures, laying a hand casually on his chest. It’s  _ not _ a flirtation between old lovers, forever at risk of falling back into something more complicated. She is a friend and colleague seeking human connection. That is all.

She’s a liar, and she knows it.

The evening draws to a close, and because of the unexpected plasma storm suddenly raging around this planet, their hosts graciously prepare accommodation for them. But it seems, somehow, they have misunderstood their requirements. 

Kathryn stands, hands on hips, staring at one bed. One very large, and she must concede at this late hour, very inviting, bed. 

Chakotay looks sheepish. “I told them two rooms, Kathryn. Honestly.” She musters a glare from behind the haze of dancing and drinking, and directs it at Chakotay. She suspects the effect is rather less deadly than she intends. He tugs his ear. "I know the transporter’s still offline, but I could take the shuttle back."

“Through that storm?” she snorts, “Not likely.” He must know as well as she does that's out of the question, given the strength of the plasma storm engulfing the planet's stratosphere. 

"Worried about losing another shuttle?" His eyes sparkle impishly.

"I’m rather fond of the Delta Flyer,” she says. “I'd be quite upset if something happened to it.”

This isn’t about shuttles, of course it isn’t, and they both know it.

Almost inadvertently, she steals a glance at the bed, which is covered in rich blue cloth, with sumptuous pillows.

He follows her gaze. “We’ve shared a bed a few times lately,” he says, mildly, as if he is talking about nothing more significant than sharing a table in the mess hall. 

They are straying into territory she doesn’t quite know how to navigate, so she falls back on a formal tone. “Circumstances have arisen recently that have made sharing sleeping arrangements expedient.” 

They are standing far too close for this conversation. She steps away, putting a safe distance between them.

He smiles, shakes his head slightly, as if he understands that she needs an out. Of course, he makes it easy for her. “I’ll agree to share, Captain, provided we maintain our parameters.” He moves to the bed and pats the blue coverings. “I stay on my side, you stay on yours.” He smiles good-naturedly.

Not for the first time, she wonders what she did to deserve him. She nods. “Sounds like a good plan.”

Under the circumstances it’s a little awkward, undressing, washing, and slipping into the simple night clothes their hosts provided. They dance around each other, giving each other space in the bathroom. He, trying not to look at her, and she, careful not to touch him, because it would be too easy to fall into his arms. How they would come back from that without damaging one another? Kathryn takes a deep breath as she stands in front of the mirror, removing her comm badge from her discarded uniform. As a last-ditch attempt to avoid this situation she contacts  _ Voyager  _ to double-check that they still can't beam out. But nothing has changed. They are well and truly stuck. 

He is already in bed when she emerges from the bathroom. She puts her comm badge on the bedside table, walks around to the other side of the bed, and slips in.

They both stare at the ceiling, hands folded on their chests. 

“Are you tired?” she eventually asks. 

“Not really.”

Suddenly, her comm badge chirps, and without thinking she leans over him to answer it.

“Janeway here.”

“Captain,” comes Harry’s voice, “Update on the plasma storm. There might be a window to beam you both back in about three hours. Other than that, it will be well into tomorrow. Do you want a further report when—"

Kathryn is draped over Chakotay, their bodies pressed far too close. His breathing catches, her blood rushes in her ears and her lips are inches from his, and god, it feels so good.

“It’s alright Harry. The commander and I will return in the Delta Flyer as planned tomorrow afternoon. Janeway out.”

She doesn’t move. She is locked in his gaze, unable to break the spell. She wants to kiss him more than she’s wanted anything for a long time. It’s clear he wants that too, because his lips part and he brings his hand to her cheek. None of this  _ wanting _ makes a difference, though. They can’t. She takes hold of his hand, and moves it gently away from her cheek.

“We should get some sleep, before we forget ourselves. Keep to our own side of this bed, maybe.”

Something like hurt flashes in his eyes. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do,” she says earnestly. “Never doubt that. It’s  _ myself _ I don’t trust.”

He can't hide an irritated sigh. “That doesn’t help, Kathryn. Thinking you don’t want me is painful, but I can live with it. Knowing we want to be together but can’t, well that makes the universe feel like a very cruel place.”

"What we want isn’t the most important thing, is it? We have responsibilities. Ones that would be very hard to carry out if we get involved again. I’m sorry it has to be this way."

“Me too,” he whispers. 

"Goodnight." The finality stings her throat. 

In the silence, she sees clearly that the u-turn in their relationship after New Earth still hurts him as sharply as it hurts her. He shows it often in moments of hovering sadness, fleeting glances that linger a little too long. But he has never once made things difficult.

Maybe this really is his superpower, because he whispers words that make her want to cry with their kindness.

"It really is all right. Goodnight." He turns off the light.

Kathryn stares into the shadows for a long time. She needs to wrap her heart in steel, because Chakotay is right. The universe is a very cruel place indeed.


	4. Making a Habit of It

It’s been four hours since they were dragged into this damn cell, and they have been in near darkness the whole time. The only light comes through a narrow window in a solid wooden door. No amount of hammering or shouting brings a response, and fumbling around the room, hoping for a method of escape is fruitless. So Kathryn sits on the metal-framed single bed next to Chakotay, steaming.

“This is ridiculous! How can they keep us locked up without even telling us what we’re supposed to have done?”

“Tuvok is going to find us eventually,” Chakotay says, his voice infuriatingly smooth and calm. 

“Of course. But in the meantime, we’re supposed to just sit here?”

“You could try meditating.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing, I suppose?” Kathryn softens her voice because none of this is his fault. In fact, he’s taken their incarceration in rather better humour than she has. 

“It calms me.”

She sighs. Meditating actually might help. “Alright. Would you—”

At that moment, the cell door opens. Kathryn is on her feet in an instant, but before she can say two words two guards push past her and grab Chakotay by the arms.

“What the hell?” She launches herself at their captors, and for her trouble is shoved to the floor. 

“Kathryn, it’s alright,” he says, warning her not to put herself in harm’s way.

Then he is gone. She throws herself at the door, but she only hurts herself more by banging her fists in rage. 

“Bring him back!”

After she yells her fury out, she slumps back onto the bed, desolate and spent. What were they doing to him? He could be hurt, or worse. Kathryn covers her face with her hands. No. She has to stay positive. He’ll be back, alive, unharmed, and they will clear this stupid mess up and continue their voyage. Their story can’t possibly end here, not in a dank cell at the edges of an uninhabited system over a misunderstanding.

An hour passes, perhaps more, before she begins pacing. She always believed they would have time to rebuild what they’ve lost, that they’ll get back to the Alpha Quadrant and be free to love one another again, but as time passes, it gets harder to hang onto her optimism. What if she’s left it too late? The thought that she might never see him again makes her throat tight, and she clutches her chest as she paces. How can she carry on without him?

The door opens abruptly, and he stumbles into her arms. “Chakotay!”

One of the guards steps close to her, and rumbles, “I’d persuade your captain to talk if I were you. He hasn’t been very cooperative.”

“What? He isn’t the captain, I’m the captain!”

“He said you’d probably lie about that.” The guard turns on his heels. “We’ll be back in the morning.”

The door closes, stealing the light, but not before she sees his face, bloodied and bruised. She guides him towards the narrow bed and helps him sit.

“How badly are you hurt?”

He can only grunt. His breathing is fast and shallow. Damn the lack of light! She runs her hands over his torso, legs, arms, struggling to check for injury and bleeding when she can barely see a thing. After a moment he catches her hand.

“It’s alright, Kathryn,” he wheezes. “I don’t think they did anything worse than crack a rib or two.”

“That’s bad enough,” she spits, but is relieved nonetheless. “What did they want?”

“ _ Voyager’s _ armaments, defensive capabilities, crew complement. I didn't tell them anything.”

“Except that  _ you’re _ the captain.”

He coughs. “You’ll have to forgive me for that.”

She cleans his face best she can with the soft material of her undershirt. “Can you count backwards in sevens from one hundred?”

“I don’t have concussion, Kathyrn.”

“Humour me.” She continues to dab away blood from his nose, lips, forehead. She tips his head gently towards the light to examine a cut just above his eye. His skin is hot. 

“Ninety-three. Eighty-six. Seventy-nine," he whispers. "Seventy-two. You’re beautiful.”

“I thought you said you didn’t have a concussion?”

He laughs and then coughs, and clutches his side. “I am a little tired.”

“Then lie down.” She eases his boots off and lays beside him on the narrow cot, pulling the thin blanket around them both.

“Here we are again,” he says weakly. “Sharing a bed.”

She laughs softly. “We seem to be making a habit of it.”

“I wish,” he quips.

There’s a dull ache in her chest, mixed with rising anger at the senseless violence. “I hate that they did this to you.”

“Better me than you,” he whispers.

"I can't let them hurt you again. I won’t." 

“Kathryn, I’m your first officer. It's my duty to protect you." 

"There's no protocol in the damn rule book that dictates you take a beating for me."

His voice is thick as if he is talking through a wall of pain. His face is barely visible in the shadows. "There's no protocol for a lot of things in that damn book. We’ve made our own rules out here. So I’m making a rule now. No one’s going to hurt you while I can prevent it. You are essential to  _ Voyager _ .” His voice falters. “And... to me.” 

She reaches out and touches him, her fingers skimming gently down his cheek. “I haven’t stopped loving you,” she whispers into the forgiving darkness. Then she softly kisses the side of his lip that isn’t swollen. “I just wish things could be different.” 

“I know,” he murmurs. “Our lives are so complicated.”

His words echo in her ears as he slips into an exhausted sleep. He was being kind, of course.  _ She _ makes these rules for them both, breaking and resetting parameters when it suits her. At least she has until now. She’s not entirely sure she can live this way anymore.


	5. Because You Want to Be.

Kathryn is back in her quarters on _Voyager, _alone. When diplomatic channels failed, Tuvok took a pragmatic approach and sent a stealth team consisting of himself, B’Elanna, Mike Ayala and three plasma cannons into the underground bunker. They blasted the cell door right off its hinges. Minutes later, _Voyager_ beamed them all to safety. After checking her over and repairing Chakotay's ribs, the Doctor instructed them both to get a square meal and a good night's sleep. 

Now, hours later, Kathryn still can’t shake the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. Food is unappealing and sleep feels impossible. As she replicates her third coffee, turmoil bubbles upwards in her chest, a physical manifestation of the war in her heart between a woman in love and a captain with unbearable responsibilities. This is no good: she  _ has _ to resolve things. It’s time to stop pacing and start talking.

Her heart hammers as she chimes Chakotay’s door. He might be asleep. This is probably a bad idea. She should leave it until the morning. She turns away, but before she can escape, the door opens.

He takes her in with a glance. “Can’t sleep? Me either.” His tone is abrupt.

“We need to talk.”

He sighs wearily as he steps back to let her in. “You don’t have to lay down parameters again, or explain yourself. I understand.”

“I’m not sure you do,” she says, her voice catching in her throat. “I’m not sure  _ I _ do. But I know one thing. I meant it when I said I still love you.”

“Kathryn…” his tone is laced with warning. 

She can’t push him away again. She doesn’t want to. “Damn it Chakotay, these parameters. I thought they would make things easier, but they don’t anymore.”

He squints at her. “What are you saying?”

She smiles crookedly. “What set of circumstances would put us in a position to have to share a bed tonight?”

He lowers his eyes for a moment and then steps closer. “There's only one reason I’ll accept you in my bed tonight. And that's because you  _ want _ to be.”

She looks up at him. Her heart pounds. “I want to be.”

He takes her hand. “It might be complicated.”

“I’m certain it will be. I also happen to think it’ll be worth it.”

“No argument from me.” He slides his arm around her waist and pulls her closer. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Hell yes.”  Kathryn feels herself falling into his dark eyes, into his strong heart, and moments later, into his soft bed. The kiss is just as sweet as she remembers. She raises her body to meet his.

There is nowhere else she would rather be.


End file.
